“Where they can shoot at us.”
He said, “We can swim fast and find safety in Texas.”
“It’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”
Adan grinned this time, “All day?”
She ruffled his dark hair with a hand, then focused on the road, what there was of one.
Chapter 17
Raymond and Joaquin rode the rumbling, ancient dozer from the church into La Linda as fast as it could go. Raymond had a death grip on the frame as the older man worked the levers and gears, sliding them onto the main street and down a block to the open doors of an abandoned warehouse. He pulled into it and cut the motor. The sudden silence was eerie.
“I’ve got that old suburban, you want.” Joaquin said.
“I need to find Hunter.”
“You’re not going to catch them from behind. You need to get ahead of ‘em and wait.”
Raymond was so anxious that his jaws ached from the tension.
“If she’s as resourceful as you say, she’ll get back to you.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Joaquin rubbed his chin, “That means she’s dead. That kid, too.”
Raymond knew it was true.
“If that happens, and god forbid that it does, come back here and look me up. We’ll go hunting.” Joaquin’s eyes showed he wasn’t talking about animals.
Raymond thought for a minute, “Okay, I’ll borrow your car.”
Joaquin went to an old cabinet on the wall, opened it and returned with a set of keys on a twisted piece of bailing wire. “She’s full, and she’ll go a long way, if that’s what you need, and I’ll tell you right now, it’s a long road either way you go, to Presidio, or Del Rio.”
“Thanks. I believe I’ll head to Presidio and wait for her on the Texas side of the river. I can get some more help on that side, too.”
Joaquin nodded, “Sounds good.”
“What do I do with your car? How do I get it back to you?”
“Leave it at the El Soldado Restaurant in Ojinaga. Give the keys to the owner. I’ll pick it up next time I’m there.” He pulled an old Colt Government Model 1911 from his belt and handed it to Raymond. “It’s loaded, with one in the pipe.”
“Thank you.”
“De nada, amigo. Vaya con Dios.”
Two hours later, Raymond drove the long route to Presidio. He figured it was still hours to go before he reached the border at the international bridge there. His thoughts stayed on Hunter, enough so that he caught himself rubbing his lips with a finger.
He drove the road for four more hours without seeing another vehicle, and when he was sixty miles from Presidio, he spotted the roadblock. They weren’t police, or law enforcement of any kind. What Raymond saw was four hard-looking men armed with AKs, standing behind the Dodge Rams parked crossways on the road, their front bumpers touching in the center of it.
Raymond slowed as he approached them, and his heart thudded as if it were suddenly twice as heavy in his chest. He put his Glock in his left hand, hiding the weapon between the door and his thigh. He wasn’t as good a shot with his left, but he didn’t have another choice if things went south.
He stopped far enough from the vehicles that he could spin out and evade them to either side if need be. One of the men, a fat one with a pink face came to his vehicle, carrying an AK in one hand. Raymond felt the sweat on his pistol grip.
He said, in English, “Who are you?”
“John Sanchez. I’m from Odessa, looking around down here.”